Bound and Chained to You
by allemptyoflove
Summary: In a world where the wealthy are Masters and Mistresses, Ana is destined to become a servant and slave to a Master or Mistress, bound to them in a life of servitude. When she captures the curiosity and attention of the wealthy Master Christian Grey, will she accept a job as his slave and servant, giving up her servitude? Can love be found between classes of Master and Servant?
1. Chapter 1

_**Bound and Chained to You**_

When it's my turn to use the bath water after my mother it's already lukewarm and almost cold. I strip out of my days clothes, letting them fall to the floor at my feet, then step into the tub, sloshing down into it.

I grip the edges with a sharp inhale at its mild warmth, my bare skin covering in goosebumps as I shudder. The waters already dirty, stained a light brown from my mother's hard day at work. I had already been born and was eight years old when my mother first went to work at the house of Mistress Lincoln.

My father Frank had passed away when I was four years old at the age of thirty eight, probably mainly due to a hard life that had been thrown at him.

Before he died, my mother stayed at home with me, educating me, teaching me the ways of the world while my father worked with a Master I can't remember the name of, doing laboring and yard duty. But then when my father died, my mother was forced to take his place and seek work for a Master or Mistress.

The first person to employ her due to her skills was Mistress Lincoln; I hadn't met her before but my mother described her as rather cold and superficial; A demanding woman in her early or late sixties. My mother had been working for her ever since, sometimes even coming home late so that she can earn some more money for us to get by but even then, her wage isn't too good.

We barely get by enough as it is. While my mother goes to work, I focus on my own duties and chores around the house; Cooking, the cleaning and dusting. Making the bed for us, hanging out the washing. Sometimes if I'm lucky and I get some time to myself, I like to read. But getting time to myself has become a rarity lately.

At the age of sixteen usually a young woman or man goes off to find themselves employment for a Master or Mistress. My birthday is in just a couple of days and I know it will be expected and required of me also.

It makes me nervous, the thought of starting my duties as a commodity to a Mistress or Master but this is something expected. There isn't much I can do about it.

Gripping the edge of the bathtub tightly with my hands, I slowly sink into the water, submerging myself straight in, letting my hair get wet. I keep my eyes open as I stare up at the cracked ceiling, listening to how the world sounds so muted and dull beneath water. Then I see my mother come into the room, changed into her nightclothes, her hair still damp. She folds up the towel she used neatly and puts it on the floor for me to use to dry myself next.

Seeing as my mother always works late and often comes home battered and bruised and worn to the bone, I figure its only fair I let her use the warmest water in the tub.

Glancing down at me, she smiles softly. Then she makes a gesture at me with her hand, coaxing me up out of the water so I can hear her. I lift myself up, the water dripping and splashing around me.

"How did everything go today?" Mom asks.

My mother sinks to her knees, plunging her hand deep into the bathtub. She finds the washcloth and starts to help me clean, wiping my back gently with the flannel cloth. She always does this and even although I'm older now I still find it relaxing. It always reminds me of her doing this for me when I was younger.

"I got everything done today," I tell her softly, allowing her to wash beneath my arms. "I got the washing done and also put some new bed sheets onto the bed."

"Thank you, honey," she whispers, and I look at her face as she wrings out the cloth of water, only to start using it to wash around my neck carefully.

I've always found my mother to be so beautiful; Even now, if she's tired with bags beneath her eyes, if she's got bruises and she's more wrinkled than she used to be she's still the most beautiful woman to me. And the most caring and hard working woman too. If it weren't for her finding work with Mistress Lincoln, even while she was upset and grieving the loss of my father, I'd hate to know what would happen to us.

She grasps my chin in her hand, slowly lifting my face up so she can wipe away and clean my skin.

"How was today at Mistress Lincoln's?" I ask her curiously, watching her face.

She sighs loudly. I can tell she's troubled. "Difficult. She's having a party at her house next week. Over three hundred guests are invited."

When I was younger I used to love hearing my mother tell me stories of how the Masters and Mistresses lived; They had always lived so extravagantly, so elegantly, throwing house parties, never having to go without anything. Food for the Masters and Mistresses was always plentiful; They never knew what it was like to go cold or hungry. Everything just seemed so easy and joyful to them- I think that was why I always enjoyed my mother's stories. They just lived such different lives than us. Lives that almost seemed unreal and like a dream.

"Three _hundred_ guests?" I murmur back in shock, shivering as she drags the cloth over my forehead. Another thing I found interesting about Masters and Mistresses was the parties they held. Their parties always sounded so unnecessarily extravagant and wild.

"Yes, three hundred," my mother confirms back at me with a wince. "I'm not looking forward to it to be honest. All of this extra work and added stress..." As she goes to dab at the bottom of my chin with the washcloth, I notice for the first time the sore red mark near her right elbow. It hadn't been there yesterday.

"Mom, what happened to your arm?" I ask her nervously.

My mother pauses from her careful dabbing and wiping to drop her gaze to the mark in question herself. She sighs again with a dismissive shrug. "Mistress Lincoln was stressed today while filling out the invites to her party. According to her I hadn't put the invites into their assigned envelopes fast enough so she snapped at me. You remember how I told you how she often gets, don't you?"

I press my lips together tightly, my heart seizing for my mother.

It isn't the first time my mother has endured such horrid rough mistreatment from Mistress Lincoln. In fact, as my mother tells me, this sort of treatment is often given by the Masters and Mistresses that employ us.

In a Master or Mistresses employment, the rules are simple according to my mother and must be obliged very carefully:

 _Never talk back but if requested to answer a question always speak politely and softly._

 _Never look your Master or Mistress in the eye._

 _Follow and obey all rules._

 _And above all accept any chosen punishment given._

For doing all this my mother gets a weekly wage of $250.00. It's enough for us to go to the markets to purchase food to put onto the table and barely just enough to get by on other necessities.

The treatment is what I fear the most. When my birthday comes and I have to find employment of my own, I'm terrified of what will potentially happen to me despite knowing my mother would never allow any major harm to come to me.

My mother shies away strangely as I stare at her, her eyes welling up with tears. And then her face crumbles as she sniffs loudly. To my horror I think she's crying. My mother usually never lets herself cry in front of me if she can help it.

"Is it your arm, Mom?" I whisper, worried. "Does it hurt?"

"No, honey. It... it's fine." She wrings out the washcloth again, then places it on the tub to dry. "There's just something I need to speak to you about."

"Then tell me now," I plead. Seeing her like this, so defeated, it's heartbreaking.

"No, I... I don't think I will. How about you dry off and get dressed into your nightclothes." I can see she is trying to make her voice purposefully brighter as she slowly rises to her feet. "Then we can speak about this over our dinner, honey."

Her behavior is distressing but I let it go, getting to my knees. The water drips off me as she helps slip the towel over my damp shoulders. Then she leaves the room hurriedly, hiding her face from me. Something is clearly distressing her. I find out what it is once I get changed into my nightclothes.

Our dinner is a few slices of apple and some buttered bread I picked up earlier at the market. Ravenous seeing as we haven't barely eaten anything all day, we sit in silence for a while, picking at our food. I notice my mother won't look at me. Her fingers are trembling as she tears off pieces of bread to pop it into her mouth.

"Mom, what's wrong?" I ask nervously while stuffing a slice of apple into my mouth, chewing slowly.

She still refuses to look at me as she chews herself. "Mistress Lincoln requires more help for arranging the party," she explains softly, her eyes on her bruised apple slices. "She'll need more help to arrange the food and the celebratory decorations." My mother breathes in deeply as she says shakily, "I may have offered your services."

My esophagus seems to close over at her words to the point where I cannot swallow the chunk of stale bread I have chewed down. I slap a hand over my mouth, gagging, suddenly feeling ill and no longer hungry.

"I know, honey. I... I know it's early and you aren't quite of the expected age to seek employment yet from a Master or Mistress," my mother says soothingly, meeting my eyes quickly before glancing down again. "But there was not much else I could do. I... I hate to put you into this position. I truly do but-" She pauses to catch her breath- "But we do need the money."

Although it's hard and I feel sick I force the food down, swallowing it. I nod once at her words, my voice coming out hoarse, "I know that we do."

"She requested that you come along with me tomorrow so that she can meet you. She wants to meet you beforehand to decide on whether she will consent to your services or not."

Tomorrow? My eyes widen fearfully. Tomorrow is so early and I am not so sure I am prepared for it.

"I already have your outfit picked out," my mother continues weakly. "Similar to mine. We'll have to go by the usual transportation service for the help to get there." There are buses daily that get servants to and from their Master and Mistresses. My mother always wakes up on no later than six o'clock in the morning to get dressed and ready to leave. "I'll introduce you to Mistress Lincoln."

I am petrified at the thought of meeting this horrible woman who has been treating my mother so terribly. Only there is nothing I can do about it. I have no choice but to go with my mother tomorrow by bus and impress this woman so that she will hire me for my services to help out with the party she attends to hold.

I just really hope I do not disappoint my mother.

We wake at six o'clock in the morning on the dot to the sound of my mother's alarm. We share a bed together and we always have. Usually while my mother wakes to get ready, I'll wake as well at the same time to prepare a cup of tea for her. But this morning is different. I actually find myself waking up for a completely different reason.

I prop myself up onto my elbow with a yawn as my mother climbs out of bed, hurrying to set out our clothes. The standard uniform for servants of the Masters and Mistresses is a blouse and skirt with flat shoes. I see my mother grab my set of clothes from out of the closet; identical to hers. Without a word, I force myself up, getting changed along with her. I know if we arrive late it will not only leave a bad impression on my Mistress to be but my mother may suffer the consequences and could be punished.

I pull on the black skirt, then slide my arms into the white blouse as my mother does the same. Then she helps zip it up tightly at the back and stuffs the end of the blouse in so I look neat. I wonder if she can tell how shaky and queasy I am feeling. Clearly she can, because she holds me by the shoulders and squeezes down gently for a moment with her hands, as if to comfort me, before letting go.

"I think we should put your hair up, honey, gorgeous as it looks when you wear it down," she says to me.

I allow her to while I sit down on the bed. She brushes my long dark hair out, then fastens it up into a secure bun. Then it is my turn and she sits while I stand over her, assisting her with her own hair.

"Remember the rules," my mother says, her voice strained, as I fasten her hair up.

"Yes," I whisper. "No eye contact. No speaking unless directly spoken to first."

"And obey," my mother reminds me. "Obey every word and request Mistress Lincoln asks of you, no matter how difficult or degrading it is."

"Yes. That too." Once we both slip into our flat shoes, I rush out into the small kitchen to fix us tea as usual. I find it helps, acting as we normally do despite today being far different. Today, I meet my first Mistress. It's horrifying.

After we finish our cups of tea, we lock up and I follow my mother to the area where the bus picks us up. Already there is a large line of women waiting to be picked up- other servants. It occurs to me that we all look like clones; All of us dressed in immaculate blouses, skirts and flat shoes with no heel. I can't help fidgeting with my fingers nervously as we wait.

"You'll do great," my mother assures me softly. "Just try to follow the rules and be mindful of them."

"I will," I promise.

"Show that you are not only subservient but respectful."

"I will, Mom. I promise."

The bus rolls down the corner of the street and we all get into a neater line. I stand directly beside my mother as the bus comes to a halt. Everyone climbs on but we discover there isn't enough seats for everyone. Some are forced to stand while others have been fortunate enough to find places to sit. My mother and I are the unlucky ones, standing. My mother shows me where to hold on so I won't topple over as the bus starts moving and I obey her, clinging onto a pole with my hand as the bus gets even busier.

As we start to move, standing on the bus becomes unsteady and shaky. I am thankful for my mother's advice. Four times I accidentally bang into another woman's shoulder but she doesn't seem to notice.

"You know everything there is to know," my mother assures me, leaning closer to speak into my ear so we will not be overheard. "You know how to cook and clean. How to keep quiet when you need to be, and you are decently educated as well. I can't see any good reason why Mistress Lincoln would not find you a valuable asset to her."

I nod at her words while biting nervously on my lip, my shoulder bashing into another woman's as the bus turns a tight corner without warning.

"The next stop is ours," my mother explains, and it is now that my nerves truly settle.

I begin to feel nauseous. There is a lot resting on my shoulders, a lot of pressure. I need to show Mistress Lincoln I am a valuable asset to her- like my mother said. Yet at the same time, I am secretly praying she will not hire me. I feel terrified, not ready. My heart is hammering in my chest.

As the bus comes to a stop near a large house surrounded by miles and miles of green, well-maintained grass, my mother grabs onto my elbow, guiding me towards the exit of the bus. It's squashy and I begin to feel a hint of claustrophobia as I try to get through the sea of other servants. I can only be relieved that my mother is gripping onto my arm so tightly as not to lose me.

We push and pull our way to the door and my mother shoves us out of the bus onto the street.

My nerves increase as I peer up at the overwhelmingly large house across from us. Masters and Mistresses often have the best of everything compared to us, us that were not born wealthy and are forced to live a servant's life. I have never seen a house so large and extravagant before.

"Follow me and always stay close," my mother warns me quietly as we begin to walk and cut through the grass.

I spot a few servants in the distance working in the garden already, crouched down on all fours as they tend to the grass manually with scissors. It must take them days and days to cut the grass that way. Then again, no doubt that is probably Mistress Lincoln's intentional form of torture.

The closer we get to the house, the more I find it a struggle to breathe. I cannot believe this. Already being forced into employment when I am not completely of age. Yet I can have no anger or resentment over the fact. I have no choice and nor does my mother. This is for us and we need the extra money.

"Ana," I hear my mother mutter with a hint of gentle warning as we wade through the grass. "Put both hands behind your back to stop yourself fidgeting with your fingers so obviously. And keep your head angled low."

"Um, okay." I do as my mother says, bringing both hands behind my back and interlacing them while dropping my head. I keep my eyes fixed on the grass. I'm still so horrible nervous however. Inhaling, exhaling, it's so hard to even do something as natural as breathing right now.

What if I do something immediately wrong to upset Mistress Lincoln? What if she feels compelled to punish me right there on the spot? What if she hurts me in all the ways I know she hurts my mother; giving Mom bruises and nasty scratches? What if she does not hire me and we cannot get the extra money to make our live a bit easier? How disappointed will Mom be?

As we reach further along, a woman comes into view, not dressed like the servants. She wears a black headscarf wrapped around her head, holding her platinum blonde hair neatly in place. Her clothes are immaculate and clean; a white dress and long stiletto heels. She watches the servants tending to the garden closely; Her hands on her hips. The closer we get, it occurs to me that she's _the_ Mistress Lincoln.

Although she does not look completely menacing in appearance, she terrifies me anyway. It's the knowing that she is a Mistress, that she makes all the rules and that she is the one capable of hurting my mother and punishing her that intimidates me the most. And then she turns her head and I see her face better. Her eyes are a cold, frosty blue that suddenly scrutinize both me and my mother.

I realize I am looking directly at her and I gasp, ducking and adverting my eyes quickly to show my submission. I tighten my fingers together behind my back.

"Ah, Steele, finally you are here," the Mistress says, addressing my mother. Her voice sounds every bit as daunting as her eyes had been; There is no real infliction or emotion in her tone, her voice careless and unfeeling. "Carry on your duties as yesterday." No please or thank you. But why am I expecting that? Masters and Mistresses do not need to degrade themselves by thanking their servants. It is us who apparently should be thanking them. "And who is this little mousy thing?" she speaks up, and I know she's addressing me now. My cheeks redden as she says "Yes, you may speak," to who I am assuming is my mother.

"This is my young daughter Ana, Mistress Lincoln," my mother says, her voice different than how it usually is at home. It startles me; The difference. I have never heard Mom sound so nervous and small before."The young daughter I spoke about yesterday, offering her services to you to help prepare for your big day."

"Leave us." I try to conceal my horror as she dismisses my mother aloofly and coldly. Being alone with this woman who is in so many ways unlike my mother, a woman cold and unfriendly... it's nerve-wracking. I swallow against a lump as I see my mother nod obediently then drift off to do her usual duties.

I want to beg my mother to please come back. To please don't leave me. If it were allowed, I would only it isn't. Instead I remain silent, my head low as my mother told me despite my throat burning, my heart beating with panic at the thought of us alone together.

"Follow me," Mistress Lincoln demands impassively, turning on her heels. Keeping my head low, I do.

Her heels clack against the pavement as she strides briskly around the house to the back, her slender arms swinging back and forth confidently. I try to hide my surprise and equal amazement as her backyard opens up to a large pool area, the sun glistening off it harshly. The way the Mistresses and Masters live, it's so extravagant and luxury, it makes me sick.

I haven't even dipped in a pool once before, my lowly working class upbringing preventing it.

"I have a cleansing ginseng kale smoothie that one of the servant girls prepared for me earlier over there," she mutters as she takes a seat on a large lounge chaise, crossing her legs. Her legs are slender and tanned, perfectly shaven. I wonder if she has servants that attend to her hygiene. She probably does. "Pour me a glass, add two ice cubes."

I stand for a moment, startled. Then I realize she's testing me. This is a demonstration, a test of my obedience, as well as my listening skills.

Snapping to it, I bring up my eyes to see a glistening stainless steel cart propped up near the wall. A clean tall glass is standing there near what appears to be a jug of thick green liquid. It's clearly her smoothie. Eager not to disappoint my mother, I move towards it, grabbing the handle on the jug. I pour it in, accidentally slopping some of the thick bubbly liquid onto the white linen tablecloth its sitting on.

"You soiled it, you silly girl," the Mistress observes, stunning me. She must have really good eyes to see that far away. Chastised, I forget myself, turning back to look at her in shame. "No!" she suddenly snaps abruptly, making me wince. "Do not look at me, girl! Wipe it up!" I dart around, trying to find something to wipe the mess I've made up with frantically. I can't find anything. I hear the Mistress sigh as if frustrated. "I thought your mother said you were well educated," she remarks with a huff. "No matter now. Bring my smoothie to me."

As I grab onto the glass and turn, shame-faced, my heart jolts as she exclaims loudly again, my cheeks burning.

"What were my instructions, you foolish girl?" I grit my teeth, blinking heavily at her outburst. No one has spoken to me in such a way before. "Did I not ask for two ice cubes as well?"

My mother will be so disappointed. Already, I'm failing her.

Turning back, I use the tongs near the tray of ice cubes I notice there to hurriedly drop two ice cubes into the disgusting liquid. It sloshes, some spilling into my arm in drops but to my relief, she doesn't seem to notice that. As I turn back, I see the Mistress has now grown bored of me. Her attention is to her fingernails on her right hand instead as she inspects them.

Coming closer reluctantly, I reach over to place the glass of her smoothie down onto the table next to her chaise, making sure there is no more spillage. She doesn't acknowledge it at all, instead still looking at her nails critically. Then she at last speaks again.

"I'm expecting a visitor in a couple of minutes. You will go answer the door and bring him to me once he arrives but you will not speak to him." Her voice is low and bored; She has clearly lost her patience with me.

I don't need to wait long for this visitor of hers. A car sounds in the distance and she gestures for me to go get him with a flick of her fingers, as if I'm a fly she is swatting away. Hurriedly, I move, dashing back around the house to meet her visitor.

Her supposed visitor isn't who or what I'm expecting. I slip up, lifting my gaze curiously as a well-dressed man holds open the back door of the car for another person. A man climbs out of the backseat, a man that appears only to be in his late twenties or early thirties.

I'm momentarily paralyzed by how good looking the man is. Dressed in a tailored light blue business suit, red tie and trousers, he appears to be some sort of businessman. His hair is unruly tousled, a copper reddish brown, his eyes a deep gray as he glances up to look back at me, regarding me. I can say honestly without exaggeration that I have not seen such a good looking man before in all my entire fifteen years of life. He stares into my eyes as he starts treading up the stairs slowly to meet me. Then it takes me a belated second to realize I'm breaking the rules.

I am not supposed to be maintaining contact with anyone or staring. And considering the way he is dressed, so immaculately and professionally, he's clearly a Master; A Master that should be regarded by servants with meekness and subservience. And obviously, that also means me. I am a servant. He is a Master. He employs people like my mother and also hopefully, me.

Even with my eyes now low, I still see him lift a long-fingered hand. He fixes up his red tie, straightening it so he appears more presentable. And then, before I know it, he's speaking to me. "I don't believe I've seen _you_ before. Who are you?" he asks, in a demanding very-Masterful voice.

I open my mouth to answer, then force it shut again, reminding myself just in time. I really need to learn to get used to the rules and put them in practice.

 _Never speak unless spoken directly to first._ My Mom's voice says to me inside my head, chiding me. _Always wait for permission._

"Yes, go on." His voice is unlike any man's voice I have ever heard before; Although he sounds irritated and impatience, his voice also sounds rather nice. "Speak," he commands, and it takes me a moment to find my voice.

"I... I'm Ana," I mutter quietly, still keeping my head angled low, my eyes fixed on the pattern on his red tie.

"Well, _Ana_ , pleasure as it is to meet you... where is Mrs Lincoln?"

Oh, crap. Mistress Lincoln. "This way please," I murmur, and I turn swiftly, my cheeks reddening.

He follows behind me as I show him the way back around the house. As I reach around the corner I see Mistress Lincoln is where she was before I left her still, lounging on her chaise, holding the glass of her green smoothie in one hand. She looks the epitome of relaxation.

I stop and he ignores me, striding straight past me to where the Mistress is. She laughs fondly up at him and pats his cheek as he greets her by bending down low, pressing a swift kiss to her cheek. I'm not sure what to do now that I've done as she requested. All I do is stand there, waiting to be dismissed, aware that my hands are shaking as I keep them firmly clasped behind my back while the two began talking about things I obviously have no understanding of.

"Are you well, darling?" Mistress Lincoln asks, shuffling her legs to the side. He helps himself, sitting next to her as they talk easily and comfortably. They are clearly good friends, although the Mistress looks far older than him in age and appearance.

"I'm good, Elena. Everything is good." I try to make it so it doesn't appear obvious that I'm eavesdropping yet it can't be helped. She hasn't exactly dismissed me as yet. "Business especially, is going extremely well. I know that you'll be pleased to hear that."

I lift my eyes cautiously, allowing a quick and brief glance at the pair from where they sit. The man brings up a hand to run it through his tousled hair as the Mistress resumes speaking, something about business things. The Mistress is patting his leg, I notice. She keeps stroking his kneecap with her fingers.

And then my stomach muscles spasm in panic as the man glances over at me without warning, his deep gray eyes bright and alight with something. They assess me, his eyes; Gliding from my face, straight down to my skirt, my flat shoes, then slowly back up again.

I drop my eyes and swallow against his inquisitive, searching gaze.

He must motion to me or ask a wordless question, because I hear the Mistress say dismissively, "Oh she's just the young daughter of one of the older servants here. Her mother suggested I may want to hire the mousy little thing for Wednesday's party although I'm undecided on whether I will do that or not." She speaks as if I'm not there or as if I can't possibly have the ability to hear her. "She's still young, obviously untrained. And would you look at that look on her face?" My cheeks redden at her tone. "Look at that insolent look on her face."

Insolent? I had no idea I was looking in anyway insolent?

"Anyway, moving onto more important matters, do you want something to drink?"

"I wouldn't mind something actually. Water."

"Girl," she calls, her voice raising. She's obviously speaking to me directly now. "Girl, get my friend a glass of water. _Now_." As I turn towards the tray again, I realize there isn't any water there. She sighs again. "God, is she capable of anything? Inside. Go get some water from inside. _Bottled_ water, none of that contaminated tap water crap."

I slip up, glancing quickly in their direction again, noticing the man is still staring at me in a strange attentive way, as if he's curious about me or as if he's really studying me. One hand is on his knee, the other near his chin, his fingers stroking around it repetitively in a circular motion. My cheeks glow with heat as I hurriedly turn away, dropping my gaze. Then silently I follow her instructions although unsure of where to go, permitting myself entrance into her house.

* * *

Hi there. I had this idea where it's in a universe where there are Masters, Mistresses and slaves. Masters and Mistresses are the wealthy, while the slaves are the lesser wealthy. Not sure what anyone will think of this idea but I would love to know if it's something I should continue and expand on? Thank you.


	2. Chapter 2

Chapter Two

Rushing inside, I glance around the Mistresses house uncertainly, startled.

I don't know why it surprises me so much, but the instance I get in through the door, her house is every bit as luxurious and modern on the inside as it appears to be on the outside with the pool. It has a rustic, elegant feel to it. Paintings line the walls of some geographical places I have never seen before; Large towers and seasides in pastel colors. There's even a rug that lines the floor that looks fluffy; some sort of white animal fur, maybe a cow or a coyote.

Immediately knowing it would be impolite of me and hoping to avoid the Mistresses wrath, I dodge around the fluffy rug with my flat shoes, careful not to tread on it. Then I search for the kitchen area while biting down on my bottom lip, her orders playing on repeat at the back of my mind.

 _'Bottled water, none of that contaminated tap water crap...'_

As I inch closer towards an open entryway, I think I hear soft murmuring voices. As I follow the voices, it's then I see them. The entryway opens up into a large kitchen area, with a huge modern stainless steel refrigerator, dishwasher, and oven. Two women, looking about roughly my mother's age, are cooking in the kitchen, dressed in a uniform identical to the one my mother wears and the one she organized for me to dress in for Mistress Lincoln to meet me.

The pair bring their already hushed conversation to an immediate halt as their eyes fly to me, a nervous and tense look to their faces. Then, immediately seeing it's just me, they both laugh nervously as if relieved that it's just me and not the Mistress Lincoln. I wonder what would happen if she _did_ hear the two speaking while doing the cooking for the Mistress. Would she dare to punish them?

"Jesus, girl," the darker woman of the two laughs again weakly, pressing a hand to her chest, "You scared us."

I smile at the pair ruefully. "I'm sorry. Um, I'm looking for the bottled water?"

"That's in the refrigerator over there."

"Oh. Thanks."

With a thankful smile, I move over towards the refrigerator, grasping the cool handle. As I open it, my heart hammers in amazement at the sight. Food. The Mistress even has so much food in her fridge; leaving none of the shelves bare. There's unopened bottles of water, fresh fruits and vegetables. I haven't seen so much food stuffed in a refrigerator in my entire life before.

"You wouldn't happen to be Carla's daughter Ana, would you?" The other lady who hasn't spoken asks curiously while wiping her damp hands on a tea-towel. I have idea how she knew.

I peer over at the women, alarmed. "Um, yes. I _am_ Carla's Ana?"

The two women laugh and smile quietly among themselves. "See, I told you," the much darker woman says smugly, "I told you she looked exactly like Carla, so how can she not be her daughter?"

I've had a few people comment that I do resemble my mother quite a bit before.

"Are you going to be working here as well as your mom?" she asks quietly after a moment.

"Um, hopefully." I grab an unopened chilly bottle out of the fridge. "If I impress Mistress Lincoln enough, I hope to."

The darker's woman amber eyes fall to the bottle I'm holding. "Is that for her?"

"No, it... it's for the man outside."

"Then here." Turning her back on me for a second, she opens one of the high cupboards above the sink. Glasses. They must have been working here for quite a while to know where everything is. "The Mistress will get angry if you don't bring a glass with you to serve her friends properly," she murmurs with a faint note of warning in her voice, handing it over to me.

"Well, thanks for the heads-up," I tell her gratefully. "I'd hate to get on her bad side."

"Yeah, being on Mistress Lincoln's bad side isn't a place where you want to be too often," she murmurs, as if she knows by experience firsthand just what can happen if someone does get on the Mistresses bad side.

I know Mistress Lincoln has scratched my mother on the arm before and sometimes Mom comes home with sore-looking bruises. I'm positive the Mistress does that to her, although Mom doesn't like to speak too much about what sort of punishment the Mistress she's working for likes to dish out, and why no less.

"You better head back out before she gets upset that you are keeping her waiting too long," the other woman whispers with her own tone of warning.

Obeying the pair at once, I smile at them thankfully again before heading back outside while jumping around the fur rug carefully. Before fully stepping out, I inhale in deeply through my nose and straighten my shoulders out, dropping my head low. I force my face to appear emotionless as I step back outside, the sun glinting harshly in my eyes.

"That's better," I think I hear the Mistress murmur in approval as I approach the pair still on the lounge chaise. "At least she isn't a complete uneducated animal. At least she knew to bring out a glass."

It takes everything I have to let the rude comment slide off me. What? Just because I'm part of the working class and I am not as wealthy as her, it means I am under-educated? But I've heard enough of my mother's stories to know that this is the way these people think; This is the way the world is.

Still keeping my eyes low, I reach the table across from them, placing the glass down on it gently. I'm not sure whether I'm meant to open the bottle of water for him or not to pour it in, but I am assuming so.

Sliding up my right hand, I grip the top of the bottle, attempting to pry and twist the cap open. To my embarrassment, it doesn't open easily, not with the way my hand already feels frozen from holding the frosty bottle of water minutes earlier. I think my fingers have gone numb.

"Excuse me," the Mistress carries on as if I'm invisible and as if she cannot notice I'm struggling to open the plastic bottle of water to pour her visitor a drink, pushing her stiletto-clad feet off the chaise. She gets to her feet while readjusting the bottom of the tight white dress she's wearing over her knees. "I've got to go use the little girl's bathroom. You want some ice cubes?"

"Please," the handsome man, her visitor, affirms.

"Then you heard him, girl," the Mistress mutters under her breath sharply but her heels are already clacking away across the pool. "Put ice cubes in the drink." She spares no glance at me in acknowledgment as she starts ambling her way inside.

This is really embarrassing and unbearable. What am I going to do? A surge of wild panic darts through me as I still struggle, trying to wrench the cap loose. It's just no use. It is really too tight for my strength, the cap on the bottle. And what will happen if I cannot obey her request in opening the bottle so that I can pour him his glass of water? Will she punish me for that even if it is sort of out of my control?

"Give it here." His low, soft command breaks through my struggling. I reopen my eyes slowly, not even having to look up to see that one of his hands are outstretched towards me.

It takes me a belated moment to realize he's offering to open the bottle of water for me. "Oh, thank you," I mutter as I hand it to him, forgetting myself. Oh, crap! I'm not supposed to speak until spoken to directly first. He didn't give me his permission. Now what will happen to me?

But to my surprise, nothing does happen. At leats not anything unpleasant.

I just hear the cap being pried loose effortlessly from the bottle. Then as he goes to hand it back to me with the cap now loosened and easier to twist off, our hands touch. Touching a Master is probably forbidden as well, yet as I let myself look up at him for the briefest second, it occurs to me that he doesn't actually look too fazed by the incidental touching.

He's staring at me with his bright gray eyes, his head cocked slightly to the side. I have to wonder what he thinks when he looks at me.

Averting his eyes quickly again, I focus and get started on fulfilling the Mistresses' request. With hands too shaky, thanks to him, I get the cap opened off the bottle in one go. Relieved now, I manage to pour a decent amount of the chilled water into his glass without spilling it. Then I remember the ice cubes.

I risk a peek out of the corner of my eye at him again from where he sits on the chaise. I find he's still staring at me.

"Three," he murmurs as if reading my mind. "I'll have three cubes of ice." No please or thank you- not that he's required to thank me, the lowly servant that I am.

Turning back to the cart with his glass of water, I grab the tongs and plop three cubes into the water, ignoring the back splash onto my arms.

"Have you been working for Mrs Lincoln for long?" I hear the man ask, his voice soft but curious.

For a moment I assume he isn't speaking to me. But then as I turn back and permit myself a quick look, I realize he's waiting expectantly for me to answer, his eyebrows raised in question. Well, really, he has to be speaking to me, doesn't he? There is no one else outside seeing as Mistress Lincoln just left to head inside to use the 'little girls room', as she put it.

But why is he speaking to me? Why does he even care to know about me?

He runs a hand slowly through his hair as he stares at my face. He's leaning back on the chaise with an elbow keeping him propped up onto his side, his long legs crossed beneath him.

When I don't answer, just step forward while holding his glass in my hand, the ice cubes chinking together, he adds in what sounds an exasperated breath to me, "You have my permission to speak, so speak."

Maybe he's a better Master than most? Not that I've met any Masters before, of course. But maybe the servants he does have at his house, maybe he treats them better than Mistress Lincoln does?

"N-no, I'm not a regular employee of Mistress Lincoln's as yet," I admit breathlessly, reaching down to place his glass carefully on the table. "But I hope to be. I-I was just requested to come along today to convince her of employing me for my services."

"And why do you hope to be?" he asks next, confusing me. I don't think I understand. I don't understand why he's bothering to speak to me or why he happens to find me of such interest to the point where he feels the need to ask about my personal life.

"Well, um, my mother works here for Mistress Lincoln also. She's been doing that for... years, I think. And we could definitely use the extra money." Blindly, I clasp both hands tightly behind my back, hoping my nerves aren't giving me away.

"How old are you?" he asks next unexpectedly, his voice apologetically blunt. Then again, he is probably a Master. He would be used to asking things straightforwardly without shame.

"Fifteen. But I turn sixteen in a couple of days."

"So it's your sixteenth birthday in a couple of days?" He reaches over for his glass of chilled water, the cubes knocking together. "Do you eat cake?"

My cheeks heat at his confounding question as I lift my eyes slightly to his chin. I watch as he purses his lips over the glass, and he sips down a few mouthfuls of water quickly. His mouth... it's strangely distracting.

Being a girl that was educated at home with her mother, a girl who stays at home and mainly does house duties and chores, I am not used to someone of the opposite sex paying me such interest or attention. Perhaps if my father was still around and he hadn't died early, I might have been.

"It's okay," he mutters, as if noticing my hesitance. "You can speak to me."

I don't understand why he's asking whether I have cake but I answer honestly. "Some years ago, especially when I was younger, I did have cake, but... cake can be expensive. Especially when my mother makes it and she requires all of the ingredients."

"Do you think you'll have a cake this year?" Again I don't understand why he's asking me. Or is he doing this to get me into trouble? Cautiously my eyes dart to the house out of fear. Is he doing this on purpose so Mistress Lincoln will get mad that her guest is speaking to a servant?

I open my mouth to answer, then close it up nervously. I begin to get the suspicion that maybe he is trying to get me into trouble. I wish my mother were close by; She'd know how to react in this situation.

"Speak," he commands again, and since I'm glancing at his chin, I notice he utters it through straight white clenched teeth.

"Frankly I... I'm not sure why you care to know?" I admit.

"I, 'care to know,' as you put it, because it intrigues me. I've always been interested in how you... others live." 'Others' meaning us servants or the ones that aren't lucky enough to grow up in wealth. He shifts around on the chaise. "So tell me, Ana. Do you think you'll have cake this year?"

"I-I'm not sure," I confess quietly, still confused. "Maybe." I can't help glancing towards the house again. I'm dreading Mistress Lincoln's return.

"Are you frightened Mrs Lincoln will catch us?" he asks, if knowing exactly where my mind is at. I nod as I finally turn back to look at him. He's still staring, assessing me. I wonder why. "Well don't worry. Nothing _will_ happen if she does." He takes another sip of the chilled water. "After all, _I'm_ the one asking you the questions. You are merely entertaining me until she returns back."

He makes it sound as though I'm a show-pony or something there for him to find amusement in. Which, I realize, is in some ways true. My mind drifts off to something my mother told me; of how sometimes Mistress Lincoln likes to put on upbeat music and make all of her servants dance.

"So you are eager to work for Mrs Lincoln?" He rests an elbow on the arm of the chaise, holding his hand and knuckles beneath his chin.

"Y-yes. I-I think it will make my mother happy if she does employ me here."

"So it makes you happy pleasing others?" he asks, something quietly reflective in his tone. "If so, then that's a good trait to have. You'll go far then."

I have a sudden question of my own spring up to mind but I hesitate, biting down on my bottom lip nervously. I am not sure whether to ask for his permission first.

"I can see that there is something you wish to ask me," he mutters, startling me. I had no idea I was that easy for people to read. "Then go ahead. Ask me.

"I-I was just wondering if you employ people yourself?" I ask, my voice just barely above a whisper.

"I do." He waves his drink at my question dismissively, ice cubes banging together. "But what of it?"

"So... so you are a Master just as Mistress Lincoln is a Mistress?" I think I already know the answer to that but clarification couldn't hurt.

"That's correct, yes."

"Out of, um, curiosity," I begin, then stop.

"Yes," he sighs. "Continue."

"How... how many servants do you have currently?"

"How many?" he repeats to himself. "Hmm. Let's see." He strokes around his chin with a long index finger thoughtfully. "I'd say I have roughly around twenty." _Twenty_ servants under his employment? "But that's far less than Mrs Lincoln has."

"You both seem as though you know each other well?" I observe.

"We do. I've known Elena- or well, _Mistress_ Lincoln to you- since I was a young man."

I raise my eyebrows in silent surprise, letting my eyes met his briefly. Strange muscles in my belly clench and spasm yet again beneath his intense scrutiny.

"She's a very good friend of mine," he adds, his eyes boring down into mine. "And every bit as good as a business partner to me."

"And can I ask what exactly it is that you do for a living?"

"You may. I own my own company. Mrs Lincoln, Elena, she co-operates it with me."

His stare, it's so... unnerving. He doesn't even look away, even when I meet his gaze briefly. It's as if he has no idea that it's intimidating and could even be interpreted as rather hostile, maintaining such a prolonged stare at somebody. But then again, maybe he's used to staring? He _is_ a Master after all, just as he confirmed to me.

"What were you doing... before all of this?" he asks me, cocking his head to the side. "Before you decided you wanted to be considered by Elena for employment?"

"Um, I... I stayed at home like I'm assuming every other young man or woman my age does until they're ready."

He arches his eyebrows at me, "Doing what?"

"Maintaining the house, mostly. Doing the, um, chores." Surely this must be boring him, me saying all of this. Only when I shyly look into his eyes again, I see that he seems weirdly concentrated and interested in what I'm telling him, banal and unexciting all of it is.

"Can you cook?"

"I-I can. That's something I do as well, as part of maintaining the house."

"And well? You cook well?"

"I-I think so. My mother thinks I cook better than she does, which is why she likes to leave all of the cooking to me."

"And what do you do when you aren't doing your house duties? What do you do for... you?"

"I read," I admit with a shy smile. "Reading is one of my... greatest enjoyments."

"What do you like reading?"

"Oh. Any books. I don't really have a particular kind I prefer, I just... I love _all_ books."

He looks like he's about to ask me another question, only he's interrupted.

"Sorry about taking so long." It's Mistress Lincoln. She's returned and my heart deflates. "One of the silly fools forgot to stock more toilet paper in the bathroom," she mutters with a bored sigh.

I stiffen at her return, dropping my gaze. I hope he won't tell her we were speaking to each other. I hope she won't be mad or decide to punish me. I hope it won't reflect badly on her decision on whether to hire me or not.

As she sits back down beside him in the chaise while stretching the bottom of her dress over her slender tanned legs and knees, I notice her cold ice-blue eyes flicker to his drink meaningfully. "She did as you requested?" she mutters quietly and I think I know exactly who the 'she' is that she's referring to. Me. "The girl gave you the right amount of ice cubes?"

"She did."

My stomach knots anxiously as I watch secretly between them from where I stand. I really hope he won't tell her anything about us speaking. I am horrified to know what she will do.

Mistress Lincoln huffs nonchalantly while waving a few strands of her peroxide blonde hair out of her face. She reaches for her own smoothie glass that I had given her earlier, still half-full with the disgusting thick bubbly green liquid. "What do _you_ think of her?"

Her long fingernails began clinking on the glass, disrupting me from hearing what they were telling each other. I know my mother will be so disappointed if she doesn't employ me to help out with the party. I know _I'll_ be disappointed.

For the first time since being here, Mistress Lincoln actually smiles at the man while reaching over, patting his arm. He leans over to murmur something softly in her ear- something I still can't hear. His gray eyes meet mine again before he glances at her again, murmuring something else.

It looks almost as if he's pleading with her, trying to make a deal. Then surprisingly another smile comes across her face as she nods at his words. When she smiles, she doesn't look as horrible or monstrous. Maybe she should smile a bit more and then her servants would actually do as she requested easier?

Then they both look over at me, something assessing in their eyes. I try to appear anything but nervous, keeping my head angled as they both eye my flat shoes, my skirt, then slowly up my blouse and my face. I don't think I've ever felt so anxious before.

Patting his arm once more, Mistress Lincoln at last addresses me. "Girl," she says brusquely. "There's a party next week as no doubt your mother mentioned to you. I'll need extra heads to help organize and prepare for the night." Tapping on her smoothie glass with her fingernails again, she finishes with cold eyes scrutinizing me, "Someone to help with the cooking, the cleaning, the... serving. Oh, and the decorations." I see her shoot the man a glance out of the corner of her eye, "Christian over here seems to assume a mousy little thing like you would do well being hired for the night. You have _him_ to thank that I am even considering you at all."

Christian? His name is Christian? Without sense, I flit my eyes up to glance over at him in equal mixes of gratitude and surprise. I learn my lesson.

"No!" Like I'm a dog doing his business on her grass naughtily, she claps her hands together roughly, scaring me at the sudden sharp sound. "Look at that!" I flinch at the harsh sternness of Mistress Lincoln's voice, ducking my head again as a shameful heat rushes over me. "She has _a lot_ to learn, this girl does. I find myself unsure whether it's worth the risk."

"I'll take her if you don't want her?" My stomach flops numbly at his casual suggestion.

"She's a little too... untrained for you, don't you think?"

"Either way, I have faith she'll do excellently, Elena. Speaking to her earlier she has all the employable skills that you are looking for."

"I'm still not so convinced." Turning to me again, the next words she says I think I've misheard. "Take off your clothes."

What? I stiffen, my scalp prickling, heart stopping. Did she just tell me to take off my clothes? _My clothes_?

"Elena," I think I hear the man, Christian, whisper in protest gently.

"No, hush!" She mutters at him, holding a hand up to him in warning. Then she rests one leg over the other, shifting in the chaise to look at me." Girl, are you deaf?" Mistress Lincoln snaps unpleasantly and I swallow at her tone. "I said remove all your clothes!"

To my horror, I hadn't misunderstood. Her request, ludicrous as it is, is real.

I've never bared myself naked to anyone before, aside from my mother, of course. But to do it for someone like her, and in front of someone like him-

"Now!" She cries out in a terrifying tone, clapping her hands together.

Terrified at her voice and her anger, I'm propelled into action. Keeping my eyes low, I reach down behind me, my shaky fingers fumbling with the zipper at the back of my skirt. I wrench it down, letting the skirt fall down in a bunch of fabric at my feet. I step out of the skirt, then kick off each of my flats. I'm shaking all over uncontrollably, my breathing shaky. Exposing myself in such an unthinkable way, it's degrading, horrifying.

"The rest of your clothes," she mutters impatiently. "I want to see your worth."

My worth?

Swallowing against a thick lump in my throat, I clench my eyes shut, finding keeping them open unbearable. It's easier to pretend I'm alone and getting undressed with my eyes shut. I start unbuttoning my blouse, my fingers unsteady. It takes me a few tries to successfully get all the buttons undone, but once I do, I peel it off, yanking my arms out of the sleeves.

It isn't a very cold day, but even with the sun out, it isn't exactly too hot either. The breeze blows over my skin, making me shiver, as I now stand there, clad in nothing but my bra and underwear.

"I said _all_ your clothes otherwise I'll reconsider," Mistress Lincoln threatens, her voice a low growl. "Make it worth my while. Besides, you've gotten so far already."

Now I think I understand what that woman said earlier, that servant in the kitchen. No one should want to see Mistress Lincoln's bad side. She _does_ have one, and it's horrible.

The next part I fear is going to kill me. Taking off my bra, my underwear...

I pull each strap of my bra off my shoulders while keeping my eyes firmly shut. I'm quaking, quivering like a leaf in fear, in trepidation. Then I yank the bra around, unclasping it off with my fingers. I let the material fall at my toes as fresh air hits my nipples unpleasantly.

"And the underwear," she orders cruelly. "Take it off as well. Let us see if you are as mousy as you look beneath all those clothes."

Bringing my eyes open slowly, I find myself blind, my pupils coated with a sheen of unspilled tears. This is agony. This is purely shameful. Lifting up my gaze, I try to plead, to beg silently through my lashes, my face boiling hot with discomfort.

As my eyes meet Mistress Lincoln's, I see it there, written plainly all over her face as she sits there upright on the chaise, slender hairless leg over the other, her chin held high. Her icy eyes are alight with something resembling pleasure, something resembling glee.

She's taking sadistic pleasure in this, in all my mortification and in my defenselessness.

But she is right. I have gotten this far. What is a few more seconds of shame?

Biting down on my bottom lip with my teeth, I bend down at the knees slightly, hooking both index fingers into the band of my underwear. Before I can truly chicken out, I tug my underwear down, letting the fabric fall at my bare feet. Tears roll down my cheeks as I straighten up, forcing myself not to cover my body up although the impulse to is strong.

 _Just a few seconds,_ I try to tell myself while meeting her eyes with my own blurry ones. _Just a few seconds of embarrassment. Think of how happy my mother will be by the result._

Mistress Lincoln's thin eyebrows arch slightly as she turns to the man Christian beside her. It takes all I'm worth not to accidentally look over at him. I think it's him that I fear looking at the most while exposed like this. To be exposed and nude in front of a man with my breasts and private parts showing...

"Well, she's certainly got a lot more than I thought," Mistress Lincoln murmurs under her breath as if I'm some creature without feeling, like I'm just another one of the paintings on her walls to look at. "You want to touch her and feel her firsthand for yourself?"

I gasp and flinch back at her words in terror. At the same time, I hear it.

"Elena, that's enough!" a hiss. The Master. Christian. He's breathing raggedly and unsteadily as he climbs off the chaise to his feet, slamming his now empty glass onto the table. "You've made your point clear," he shouts at her in anger as the tears stream silently down my face.

I launch back warily as suddenly he approaches me, standing closer. I almost think he's about to run his hands over my breasts, that he's taking up her offer. Only to my relief, he does something far more unexpected. Leaning down, he grabs my blouse from off the ground, slipping it over my shoulders, covering my breasts up from sight.

I let myself peer up at his face momentarily, shivering. I think I see something similar to pity, to empathy, in his deep gray eyes. He shakes his head at Mistress Lincoln's behavior, his breathing still shallow.

Then he bends down, grabbing my underwear.

Without a word, he gestures silently for me to step into them, then helps slide them up over my legs. Once I'm completely covered with both my underwear back on to hide my privates and the blouse to hide my breasts, he turns back to look at Mistress Lincoln while placing both hands on his waist.

The incredulous huff of laughter Mistress Lincoln gives out horrifies me. I fasten the fabric over my shoulders, hugging it to me tight to cover my breasts more securely. How can someone be so cold? So cruel and unfeeling to a human being?

"Oh come on, Christian," she murmurs, like she's teasing an old friend. "You've done way worse before and you know it. You know why it offends you so much? What I'm doing?"

"Why?" He barks out at her while running a hand through his hair.

"Because it isn't you, you aren't the one doing it to her. It isn't you indulging in your darkness, in your... need." Clearing her throat, she finishes, "That said, I'll employ you for that Wednesday, girl. I hope it was worth your while."

xxxx

I cower against the pole I'm gripping tightly on the bus ride home, my mother standing beside me, other servants around us having finished their day at Mistress Lincoln's as well. Although it's been over five hours since what happened had happened, I still feel what I felt earlier.

I feel degraded, humiliated. Was it really worth my while, as Mistress Lincoln said? Was it really worth it- exposing my body, embarrassing myself in order to gain employment so that I can help my mother earn more money to put food onto the table?

No, I can't say it was. I feel like I've betrayed myself.

"How did you find her?" My mother asks me quietly as the bus takes a right turn, sending her brushing up into my back. "Mistress Lincoln? How did you find her, honey?"

"Fine," I murmur, flashes of her expression coming back to me.

How sadistically pleased she was at demanding I take my clothes off, how she thrived on my embarrassment.

I can't help wondering if Mistress Lincoln did the same thing to my mother. Did she demand my mother take her clothes off the first time she expressed her interest in being employed? Or was it all just for him because he was there and she knew he was interested, that he were speaking to me and asking me personal things that a Master usually does not bother himself to ask a servant? Was it just for this... Christian's benefit?

Either way, I huddle closer to the pole, trying to soothe myself. At least I did my Mom proud, no matter how unbearable it was.

* * *

Wow, thank you so much for your alerts and the interest expressed in the story! I didn't expect that at all. Elena is going to be a very nasty woman in this story - well, nastier than she already is in the trilogy- so prepare yourself for that. But she'll get what's coming to her in the end. ;) Would love to know what you think. Thank you!


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